


put out the flames and set this cold heart free

by glitteratiglue



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: M/M, On the Run, Reunion Sex, Spoilers for Civil War trailer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-29
Updated: 2015-11-29
Packaged: 2018-05-04 00:00:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5312042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitteratiglue/pseuds/glitteratiglue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“They’re never gonna stop, you know. Not until they find me,” Bucky says, his face grim.</p><p>Steve clicks his teeth together. “I know."</p><p>(In which Steve and Bucky go on the run, and they fuck. Or, all my feelings about the Civil War trailer.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	put out the flames and set this cold heart free

**Author's Note:**

> All **evieeden** 's fault. I said, "What if Steve and Bucky had sweaty, desperate reunion sex at some point while on the run?" and she said, "WRITE IT." I also blame all of the excellent meta floating around tumblr for this.
> 
> Quick and dirty fic, no beta. Any attempt at plot is based on nothing but wild speculation over the Civil War trailer. They're on the run, sex happens. Very little is explained *hands*.

“It’s really you,” Steve says in disbelief, thumbing the cut on Bucky’s forehead.

There's stubble on Bucky’s cheeks and his hair is longer than before, but it’s _him_ , right down to the metal arm trapped in the vise.

Steve’s breath catches. “Bucky,” he says, tracing the side of Bucky's face with gentle fingers.

“Yeah.” Bucky sounds tired, his voice heavy with exhaustion and terror, but he leans into the touch, until his eyelashes brush Steve’s palm. "It's me, Steve."

In the background, Sam averts his eyes. “I still say you should ask him a few more questions,” he deadpans. “But okay, Rogers. Okay.”

*

There isn’t much Steve and Sam can do without their shield or wings.

Helps comes in the form of Scott Lang. Steve isn’t too sure about some ex-con with a weird shrinking suit, but Sam trusts him, and that part is good enough for Steve.

From the look on Bucky’s face, he isn’t all that happy about it either, but he says nothing.

It’s a half-formed plan at best, but Scott is eager to help get their stuff back, and Steve has to take the chance it’ll work.

After all, he’ll do anything to keep Bucky safe.

*

Everything after is a blur. There are explosions.

“Just go!” Sam yells, through a blur of smoke. “I’ll contact you when Scott comes through.”

Steve takes Bucky, and he _runs_.

Bucky goes without complaint.

Steve thinks maybe it’s not the same as willingness, but watching Bucky hot-wire a car with his metal fingers, he’s reassured that Bucky is probably acting of his own free will. At least, he hopes so.

“What do you remember?” Steve asks as they drive away, afraid of the answer.

Bucky's hand tightens on the steering wheel. “Everything, Steve,” he says. “But you, most of all.”

*

Forced to lie low until Sam contacts them, they find a nondescript hotel in a small town.

At the front desk, Bucky pulls a wad of cash from his pocket and takes some bills from the pile. He smiles at the woman on the desk, says some flirty things to her in German, and they get themselves a room: no names and IDs needed, and no awkward questions.

Steve has no idea where Bucky got the money, and he doesn’t really want to ask.

They get upstairs, and Bucky immediately checks the surroundings, looking under the bed, in cupboards and behind picture frames. “Okay. It’s safe, for now,” he says.

For a second, Steve just looks at him: _Bucky_ , his face drawn and tired but still trusting. Still here.

Bucky smiles; it's a little forced, but it's there. “Y'know, this isn’t how I thought my day was gonna end.”

“Me neither,” Steve answers honestly. He can feel his heartbeat in his chest, the pulse in his veins. The adrenaline of their getaway is fading, but suddenly, his skin is prickling with anticipation.

Bucky’s eyes dart towards the bathroom. Steve doesn't blame him; they're both filthy and sweaty from the day’s exertions.

“Do you want a shower?” Steve asks, and Bucky nods.

They take turns in the bathroom, then change into the clothes they picked up on the way.

After his shower, Steve is toweling his hair dry when he turns to find Bucky sitting on the other bed, flipping the swiss army knife that’s his only weapon.

There’s cold blankness in Bucky’s eyes as he stares at the knife, following its silver arc through the air.

Steve’s heart is caught in his throat.  Instantly, he's reminded how he doesn’t really know anything about this Bucky. Nobody knows where they are, not even Sam or Natasha; it was safer that way. Bucky could kill Steve with a skilled twist of that knife, gut him and leave him to bleed out on the carpet pile.

He doesn’t.

Bucky looks up, his gaze uncertain, but with none of the icy determination Steve remembers seeing in the Winter Soldier’s face. He puts the knife down.

Steve breathes out, relaxing.

“They’re never gonna stop, you know. Not until they find me,” Bucky says, his face grim.

Steve clicks his teeth together. “I know.”

And God, doesn’t Steve know. They’re on borrowed time, fugitives from justice, rats in a cage without anywhere to turn. Steve's world is spiralling out of control, and the only constant he’s found is Bucky.

Bucky is all he has.

For a moment, they just stare at each other. Bucky is the one who moves first, stepping into Steve’s space, reaching for him.

Steve freezes, with Bucky’s hands on his shoulders. He can’t breathe, but he finds it in himself to say, “Bucky, you don’t have to do this.”

“Are you saying you don’t want it?” Bucky says, hurt in his eyes, but he doesn’t let go of Steve.

It's been so long since anyone has touched Steve with any tenderness that he shakes in Bucky’s grasp. “No, I do,” Steve finally admits, and Bucky is pressing closer, breathing hot against his cheek, his lips.

“I don’t know what’s gonna happen,” Bucky says, very serious. “But I do know I want this. I want you.”

Steve cards a hand through Bucky’s hair. “I won’t let them take you,” he says fiercely.

Then Bucky laughs a harsh laugh and his mouth is on Steve’s, warm and wet and desperate.

“Can take of myself,” Bucky murmurs low, dragging his lips down to the the sensitive skin of Steve’s neck. “Been doing it a while.”

It hurts Steve to hear it, because Bucky’s been alone too long, shouldn’t have had to take care of himself. Even if this is all they’ll get in the midst of running for their lives, he wants to give this to Bucky. Wants to give him something to hold onto when they inevitably have to face the consequences of their actions.

“Did you want me, back then?” Steve can't help but ask, lifting his head to look at Bucky. Bucky’s lips are bright and shiny, his eyes glassy. “Because even before the war, I wanted this, and I never did anything. I never thought you wanted it, too.”

There’s a shy grin on Bucky’s face. “Yeah, Rogers. Of course I wanted you,” he says. But then the corners of his mouth turn down, and he looks sad.

It tugs at the ache inside Steve’s chest. He doesn’t need to think before stroking a hand down the side of Bucky’s face, crowding him against the wall and getting on his knees before him.

Steve gets Bucky’s jeans and underwear down to his ankles, then mouths at the jut of his hipbone, sinks teeth into his thigh.

Bucky shoves at his shoulder. “You fucking tease,” he says, but there’s no heat to it, and the small smile on his face makes Steve’s heart leap.

Steve takes his time, gripping Bucky at the base before he licks a long stripe up his cock, tasting the warmth of skin and salt.

“Oh God,” Bucky says, metal fingers splayed out on the wall and the other hand twisted in Steve’s hair. His mouth’s open, like he can’t believe how good it feels.

Steve lets Bucky’s reactions guide him, licking and pressing with his tongue until Bucky can’t help but push his hips into the touch. Though Steve is painfully hard, his dick straining at the seam of his jeans, he never stops focusing on Bucky.

He hollows out his cheeks and sucks, until Bucky groans, quiet and low, and says, “Stop.”

Steve pulls off, frowning. “You okay?” He stands up, looks at Bucky.

Bucky’s eyes flicker. “Let me have you, Steve,” he says. “Please. I need to feel you.”

Steve’s mouth goes dry, and he says, “Yeah, okay.”

He lets Bucky walk him backwards onto the bed. They kiss frantically and peel off clothes, hands grasping at heated skin, clumsy with the need to touch everywhere.

"Looks awful, right?" Bucky says, gesturing to the scars around the shoulder joint of his metal arm.

In response, Steve leans in and kisses the angry pink streaks, needing to show Bucky it doesn't matter; he wants all of him. He lets Bucky palm his cock, a shallow gasp escaping him at the touch he's been aching for since they first kissed.

Then Steve turns over, presses his face into the pillow. There’s nothing to ease the way except fingers and spit. He knows it’ll hurt the next day, but he wants to feel the throb of Bucky inside him, to know it’s real.

He grinds down on Bucky’s spit-slick fingers, panting. “C’mon, Bucky, do it,” Steve says, half-mad with longing by this point.

Behind him, Bucky laughs. "Impatient, aren't ya?" But he slips his fingers out, shifts his body on the mattress so it's flush with Steve's.

Steve rests his mouth on his elbow, and Bucky goes in careful and slow, pressing soft kisses along the length of Steve’s back.

“Oh,” Steve gasps out, and trembles when Bucky’s lips touch his neck, his long hair tickling his ear.

Bucky starts to move. Steve closes his eyes and loses himself in every breath-stealing push of Bucky’s cock inside him, the heat of Bucky’s body where it’s aligned with his spine, the tiny sounds Bucky muffles against his skin.

Bucky doesn’t say a word when he comes, but his breath hitches in Steve’s ear, and Steve can _feel_ it, hot and wet, filling him up.

Need is still pulsing in Steve’s veins when Bucky reaches for his cock with shaking fingers and strokes him. It only takes a few seconds before Steve is spilling onto the sheets, arching against the weight of Bucky on top of him.

*

After they clean up, Bucky tugs his clothes back on and starts sorting through his gear, all business. Steve can see several fake passports and some surveillance equipment, but no weapons save for the knife.

He thinks of the way the Winter Soldier handled a trigger with ease, and his heart aches. Bucky is obviously trying hard to move on from his past, but it looks like they’re in a world where he’s going to need to keep fighting.

Bucky glances over at Steve, his expression calm. “Get some sleep, Steve,” he says, a little of the old Sergeant Barnes in his tone, just like when he used to scold Captain America for not getting enough rest.

“If you’re sure,” Steve replies. He gets dressed, curls up on his own narrow bed and turns to face the wall.

As he falls asleep, he can still feel Bucky like a pulse inside him.

*

Steve is somewhere between sleep and waking when he hears a creak from across the room.

The mattress dips.

Bucky is there, climbing into his bed. His body is tense against Steve’s back, all coiled muscle and sharpness, but he threads his fingers between Steve’s in a way that's intimate and tender.

Steve smiles contentedly in the dark. He shifts back at Bucky, wanting him closer. “Hey,” he says faintly. “I remember this.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, his voice catching. “Me, too. When it was winter and you couldn’t stop shaking, I used to get into your bed, and I did this.” He wraps himself around Steve as tightly as possible, burying his face in the crook of Steve’s neck.

A shiver runs through Steve at the memory of how cold he’d felt, waking up out of the ice without Bucky to keep him warm.

Quietly, Steve asks, “Do you want to talk about any of the other stuff you remember? The bad things?”

There’s a sigh in his ear. “Not right now.”

“Okay,” Steve agrees, not because he doesn't want to know, but because he respects Bucky's choice not to tell him. "I don't want to lose you again, Buck," he adds helplessly. "I can't."

Bucky makes a choked sound into Steve's neck. "I know, Steve. But you've got me right now."

The fog of sleep quickly overcomes them both.

*

The next morning, Steve wakes to find Bucky still tangled around him, lips open against his neck, breathing softly.

Steve shifts in Bucky’s arms. “We need to get up,” he says, without much conviction.

Bucky’s eyes snap open. “I know.” He’s up in an instant.

Steve's phone on the bedside table buzzes: it’s Sam. Apparently the recovery of their items has gone to plan.

“Time to go,” Steve says, his jaw set as he thinks about everything that lies ahead.

He has his own war to fight — one he isn’t sure he really wants to win — but at least he’s got Bucky.

**Author's Note:**

> SERIOUSLY, JUST BURY ME IN ALL MY FEELINGS ABOUT CIVIL WAR. AAAAAAAGH.
> 
> Come find me on [tumblr](http://glitteratiglue.tumblr.com) if you want to cry about it with me.
> 
> Thanks to Gram Parsons for the title.


End file.
